Mr. Toad's Not So Wild Ride

Just another quick snapshot of the weird, random shit that is my life…

After I’d finished working tonight, I was walking over to my car when I noticed what appeared to be a homeless person walking nearby. Wearing a puffy coat, fuzzy slippers and a knit cap, she was carrying a sleeping bag and some other shit. I don’t know what kind of other shit, because I was trying extra hard not to pay attention to her and I knew that if she saw me, I was dead. Once she had me in her sights, she’d zero in on me like a hungry zombie and I’d be hit up for money that I didn’t have and certainly wasn’t about to give away to some random fucking homeless person, so that they could spend my hard-earned money on alcohol and drugs. Hell, no. I needed that money so that I could spend it on alcohol and drugs. And hookers. Can’t forget the hookers. It’s all about priorities, ducks in a row, that sort of shit. I just wanted to decompress a little, after a long day; light up a smoke, chill for a minute or two and then head home. Is that too much to ask? Maybe it sounds cold, but I just didn’t fucking care. I did not want to be bothered by some random homeless person, or any person, for that matter. I just wanted to smoke a stogie and head the fuck home. I needed to change my clothes and head over to my girlfriend’s house where I had planned to spend the night. I had some things to take care of in the morning and being the responsible motherfucker that I am, I was ready to be pretty much adult-like and shit and get on my way. I knew that the moment homeless girl saw me spark up, it would be like a moth drawn to a flame and there was just no fucking way that I was going to let that happen. I cut off at an angle that brought me closer to my car and I picked up my pace.

I made it to my car without her seeing me. At least that’s what I thought as I opened the door.

I was shoving some shit into my car when there was a loud knock on the passenger window that just about scared the living shit out of me. Just about. There was no squishy, which was good. It always makes me happy when I don’t shit my pants.

Surfuckingprise, motherfucker!

I looked up and there she was, face pressed up against the glass like something out of The Walking Fucking Dead. Holy fucking shit balls! I begged my heart to slow the fuck down. She darted away from the window and materialized at my side, like Scotty had beamed her the fuck up or something and suddenly, she was right the fuck in front of me. I noticed that she was young, around eighteen or nineteen, seemed nervous and jumpy and looked like she’d been crying her eyes out. I figured I was about to get some sob story and a plea for money, but she took me by surprise.

“Could you please give me a ride somewhere?” the girl asked me.

Caught off guard, I answered with a very reluctant, “Sure,” because that’s what I always fucking say when I’m about to do something that I really don’t want to do and I really didn’t want to do this, but I felt sort of bad for her and in my fucked up and simple mind, I imagined that maybe she’d been kicked out by her parents or boyfriend and maybe that explained why she looked like she’d been crying and maybe I’m just a big fucking idiot, but I’ve been trying out this whole humanity thing and I’ve been practicing having human emotions for the past few weeks and empathy just happened to be her lucky fucking day.

Fuck you, empathy.

New rule: no more empathy days.

And fuuuuck. I was going to stop at the store and get smokes and a Coke, but there was no way that I was going to leave this chick unsupervised in my car, so scratch that idea. Oddly enough, trusting strangers just isn’t my forte. I’m silly like that.

I asked the girl where she was going and she told me just down the street. Solid fucking answer.

I hopped in the car and grabbed my backpack and jacket and threw them into the back seat. She opened the passenger door and sat down. I asked her once again where she was going.

“Down the street,” she said again and pointed. Well, that answer was really, really, extra fucking helpful. Bravo! I wrote it off as her being upset, or freaked out, or a fucking idiot, or whatthefuckever. I noticed that she had a lighter clutched in her hand and I told her that I’d noticed it and that I smoked and that if she wanted to smoke, she could go ahead and light one up if she wanted to. Totally fucking magnanimous, right? I’m such a fucking stand-up guy.

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asked.

Fuck me. I fucking knew it. Me and my big fucking mouth.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t have any cigarettes; I only have cigars.”

“Can I have a cigar?”

Fuck me twice. Without lube.

I reluctantly handed her a cigar and we both lit up.

As I was about to pull out of the parking lot, I asked her nicely, once the fuck again, to please give me some kind of fucking clue as to where the fuck we might be going.

“Just down the street,” she said again.

I wanted to slap a motherfucker. I’d say bitch slap, but some pussy is bound to get their panties in a wad and get all fucking Social Justice Warrior on me and call me a misogynist and shit, which totally isn’t true, because I fucking love bitches, so I won’t say that.

But maybe this twit could do more than point and grunt. For fuck’s sake, she’d managed to utter a fucking complete sentence. Several times. Granted, it was the same fucking sentence, but it was a start.

Exasperated, I asked, “Straight down Barkeley, or turn on Orleans?”

“Turn on Orleans,” she replied.

Oh, an actual fucking answer. Great job! You get a fucking trophy! Thanks, for participating.

“Where to from there?” I asked.

No! Don’t even say it! Fuck! I was ready to kill a motherfucker and hide the body. I took a deep breath. This was all my fault; I’d asked for it.

“Just down the street.”

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.

Just down the street. Just down the street. Just down the motherfucking street. That’s where I planned on kicking her ass out of the fucking car, if she didn’t start coming up with some real answers.

“Look.” I said in my calmest and nicest you’d better answer me or get the fuck out of my car voice. “I don’t plan on driving around all night. I’ve got places to go and things to do, so if you want a ride, you need to tell me where we’re going, because that would be really helpful.”

Hell, I had even started to wonder if I was being set up to get jacked. If that was the case and things went south, I’d snap her neck before she could get out of the car. Fuck that shit.  If the choice is on my feet or on my knees, the choice is always going to be on my feet.

And then a sense of déjà vu came over me and I wondered if she was going to try to solicit me for money for sex and I make it a cardinal rule to never accept money for sex, because it makes me feel like a whore and I am totally not a whore. So, if she was a prostitute, she was failing miserably and totally barking up the wrong tree. Besides, I’d already done this scene before (and you can read about it here – The Hitcher).

“Do you know where Sixth Street is?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, “So you’ll have to tell me.”

“Do you know where I-5 is?” she asked.

Two fucking sentences in a row. You go, girl!

“Yeah,” I answered. “It’s just down the street.”

“It’s over by there,” she said.

Seriously?

“So is a lot of other shit,” I said. “Could you be a little more specific?”

By this time, the street we were on came to a “T” intersection and I had to turn right or left. She had said I-5 and the highway was only two blocks away. I was done with the bullshit and she needed to get the fuck out of my car. I turned right and kept going until I noticed that the street dead-ended at the highway and there was only one cross street before I would be committed to the unlit dead-end area and there was no fucking way that I was driving back there. My spidey sense was tingling.

“Right up there is good,” she said

.

No, right here is fine,” I said and I pulled over to the curb.

As she grabbed up her stuff, I still felt kind of bad for her, so I offered her my last cigar. She snatched that fucking thing from my hand so quick, I’m glad it wasn’t a fresh turd, because shit would have splattered everywhere.

I watched her exit the car and she left the front door open, turned around and reached for the back door.

What the fuck? I hadn’t seen her put anything in the back seat. What kind of fuckery was this?

She opened the back door and grabbed my backpack, which had my laptop, Kindle, wallet, money and weed inside.

Oh, fuck no. Help a motherfucker out and they try to steal your shit. No fucking way.

My hand shot out and grabbed her arm, hard enough to bruise.

“No! That’s mine!” I shouted. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Hey, I thought I sounded pretty fucking butch at the time.

I shoved her out of my car and she slammed into the back door and fell on her ass. The door swung shut, she jumped up and ran like hell; a blur in the dark.

What the fucking fuck?

Seriously? What the fuck had just happened?

I reached over and pulled the passenger door shut, turned the car around and headed for home. I gave my girlfriend a call and told her what had happened, and what a bizarre explanation that poor woman had to hear.

She’s still not sure what happened.

Hell, I’m still not sure what happened…

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Ghetto Copperfield

Scared Sober

I'm not one to believe in the supernatural; to me, ghosts and goblins, creepy creaks and moans, as well as errant footsteps in the night are all things that can be explained away quite rationally. Explanations may assume many forms, from the weather to an old home settling upon its foundation. An overactive imagination may also play its part. The mind loves to play tricks on itself, whereby every sight and sound can assume a malevolent purpose. Supernatural occurrences can always be explained away rationally; except for when there is no rational explanation.

It began like any other day, indistinguishable from the day before, it moved along like any other day; no portent of doom appeared on the horizon as the day bled out into night. Penny and I had made plans to visit our friend Lisa, for an evening of fun. Penny had a young daughter, who was close in age to Lisa's daughter; the two girls frequently played together and were fast friends, as we all were. We had arrived at Lisa's home, had dinner, and Lisa and I had a few drinks.

The children played while the adults socialized; the hours passing quickly. We had made plans to spend the night, and as the evening deepened, the children were put to bed. Penny wasn't feeling very well and was tired. She decided that she was going to lay down with the girls, leaving Lisa and I to fend for ourselves. We retreated into the den, closing the door behind us, so as not to wake the children. We listened to records, watched movies; we told jokes and we laughed; talking about anything and everything. We'd also had a few more drinks. We were laughing about something, when suddenly, our revelry was interrupted by a soft knocking at the door, a soft knock that somehow reverberated like the sharp report of a gunshot in the close quarters of the room. Thinking that one of the girls had woken up, I walked across the room to the door, telling Lisa that I would tuck the child back in and return. As my hand touched the doorknob, I felt the shock of deep cold. Opening the door the same way I would any other, I looked down to see which one of the girls was awake.

That was when it hit me, or, more accurately, went through me. This cold, malevolent presence, this thing, had violated me with malicious intent; the cold somehow imparting a taste of death. It was if my very soul had been raped. In a fraction of a second, I had felt what I can only describe as pure, oppressive evil; ice cold and yet, I had sensed a raging fire, the smells of soot, ash and brimstone. I literally knew the tread of something walking across my grave, been given a vision of that desolate and lonely place. Words alone cannot begin to describe the fear, dread and hate that passed through my body. I started shivering, shaking uncontrollably, my arms wrapped tightly around myself; freezing on a hot summer's night. "What the hell was that?" I heard Lisa say. "What the hell was that?" she repeated. "What?" I asked, uncertain that I wanted to admit to anything. "Whatever the hell that black thing was that that just walked through you," she replied nervously. "You saw it?" I asked. "Hell yes, I saw it!" she said. You could hear the tremors of fear in her voice. I told her what I had experienced and felt, asking her if anyone had ever died in the house; died in a fire, to be specific, for I had glimpsed... something. She assured me that nothing of the sort had ever happened, yet I knew that it had, beyond a shadow of a doubt. We attributed what had happened to our having had a few drinks, but I think we had both just been scared sober. We decided to leave the house for a bit and go to the beach until our nerves settled, thinking that Penny and the girls would be safe until our return. There was nothing to fear, really, this was, after all, an alcohol influenced episode.

Once we reached the beach, we took a walk along the shore and discussed what had happened, convincing ourselves that what had occurred was nothing more than imagination. Hours later, as a false dawn crept across the horizon, the decision to return to Lisa's house was made with great trepidation. We drove back slowly, both of us apparently still quite rattled and on edge. Arriving back at Lisa's house, we were startled to see that every light was on, both inside and outside of the house. I'm sure we both had puzzled expressions as we looked at each other and simultaneously asked, "What now?" As we approached the front door, it suddenly flew open, startling us.

There in the doorway stood Penny, disheveled and frightened; the gleam of terror and madness burning in her eyes. "Where the hell have you been?"she thundered. Lisa and I explained to Penny what had happened and why we chose to leave. "Yeah? Well, it got really pissed off after you left," she responded. She went on to explain that it, whatever it was, had awakened her and the girls, walking around the house, opening and slamming cabinets and drawers; knocking on the walls and the bedroom doors. Terrified, Penny and the girls had been huddled together, cowering in the living room, anxiously awaiting our return. The entire episode would still have been easy enough to pass off as alcohol induced, except, Penny hadn't had a single drink all evening. She had been completely sober and hadn't even been aware of the events that Lisa and I had experienced. Still groping for answers, I wondered if someone might have tried to break in. Prudence dictated that I go back outside, to look for any sign of an intruder, which I did. Finding nothing, I went back inside the house. The remaining hours of the morning passed without further incident, until Lisa decided to call her mother and explain what had happened the night before. All hell seemed to break loose after that.

Lisa's parents, a very conservative Jewish couple, contacted a couple of crazy Kabbalah mystics, who came to Lisa's home. After questioning the three of us about the events of the previous night, these self proclaimed mystics, claiming themselves to be psychic, roamed throughout the house, making comments and suggestions. They mentioned that some mezuzahs were missing from the doorframes, others had been turned upside down, and still more were missing their requisite verse from the Torah. The Kabbalists then proceeded to prove themselves correct, pointing out spots on the doorframes, where you could clearly see the outlines of the missing icons. All of the remaining mezuzahs were removed from the walls, opened and found to be empty inside; a barren womb. The Kabbalah mystic gave instructions to Lisa's father on the appropriate remedy to the situation, in order for the icons to once more perform their duty to guard the home. Soon after this, the Kabbalists performed an exorcism on the house, followed by a ritual cleansing and a blessing. Claiming the battle to be won, the two erstwhile psychics departed the house, but not before questioning me further, explaining to me that mine was a new soul, and therefore much more receptive to the supernatural. Yeah, right. Stranger still, the next day, Lisa researched the history of her home, discovering, of all things, that there had indeed been a deadly fire in her home, an electrical one, that had taken the life of a previous owner. The discovery of this information shook the three of us once again. While it had been a strange and dreadful night, as far as I know, there was never another incident in that house.

Over the years, I've tried to rationalize the events of that night, trying to explain them in every possible way and have never been able to, not with any degree of satisfaction. There are so many questions, still, and they are begging for answers. I still don't believe in things that go bump in the night, but it still scares the hell out of me, whenever I think of that night.